me ta mor pho sis n. 1 a change of form (by natural or supernatural means). 2 a changed form. 3 a change of character, conditions, etc. 4 Zool. the transformation between an immature form and an adult form.

With a quiet sigh, I close the dictionary and rub my stinging eyes. It's almost 4. I'll be closing up soon.

The elderly farmer who owned the large ranch in the middle of the county died yesterday. I knew him well enough to know that he was a major force behind our village's financial security, and that his influence would be sorely missed. But I knew next to nothing about him personally. I rarely met him in the street, and had almost no opportunity to speak with him on holidays, as he usually spent his time with other influential men like the innkeeper and the buyer. Now that I really think about it, though I can't say how many people knew him, everyone knew of him. His farm was unusually prosperous, and it was rumored that the Harvest Goddess held him in high favor.

I don't really believe in the Harvest Goddess, myself. Sure, I wear the ill-fitting costume every year, and I give half-hearted attention to the legends, but I don't expect Her to do much for us. I guess that's typical of my generation: only two of my female friends really believe in Her, and of those two, only one is devout in her faith, the other one believing as far as she can use that faith to assist in birthing. A third girl I know has an intellectual faith, based on the stories that her parents have told her, but she thinks of the Goddess as more of a Fairy Godmother, a wish-granting genie. The last girl doesn't believe at all, as far as I can see.

Besides, the Harvest Goddess is also the patron saint of marriages, and how can I believe in Her, when every marriage that I see is broken or miserable? Of those girls that I mentioned, two are missing one parent, one is missing both while providing care to an aged and immobile grandparent, and as for the other girl and myself…we have daily evidence of how wretched conditions are in an ill-matched marriage. Her parents at least fight in order to make up; mine exist in silent contempt of one another. My father lives to research plants, and I have taken up reading in order to have something in common with him. My mother is bound by archaic ideas of what a wife should be like, subjecting us all to ranting fits when her attempts at cooking go awry. It's discouraging, to say the least.

I don't want to think about marriages. That's why I hide myself in this dim library surrounded by dust and old crackling pages. The only eligible men in the village are Rick and the Doctor, anyway. The blacksmith's grandson has just come into town, but he is moody and unresponsive to almost everyone. A young man named Kai runs the food shop on the beach during the summer, giving us one season per year to make contact with him; Popuri latched onto him long ago. I try to focus on the manuscript that I am writing as I think about all of this. Marriage is not for me. If only I were like Ann or Popuri or Karen. I could shout it to the world then. Or even like Elli, who really doesn't care one way or the other.

But I'm just plain old, ugly duckling Maria. I'm pale and I'm drab and I wear glasses to hide my eyes that are too large for my face. I'm not boisterous like Ann or melodramatic like Popuri, or stunning like Karen or embracing like Elli. I'm too quiet and too proper and too standoffish and too boring. And if marriage doesn't interest me, I surely don't interest marriage, either.

…but I digress. The old gentleman's funeral is tomorrow, and no one would be boorish enough to miss it.

A/N: This is a mix of HM64 and HM:BtN. Most elements will be from BtN since that's what I'm currently playing, but I like the name 'Maria' better than 'Mary', and I'll probably keep a few of the festivals from HM64 as well. Forgive me for thinking that both games are a lot of fun!